A small peek into Shinji's brain
by atama ga itai
Summary: Shinji is troubled by the thought of that grip tape. Or IS he?


Disclaimer: Prince of Tennis is not my copyright.

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day!

The other night when Shinji was about to go to sleep, he found that instead, he was thinking about that damned grip tape. It wasn't so much that he wanted that particular package of grip tape, which of course he did, come to think of it, since that was the last one in the shop; it was that his RIVAL had taken it in stead of Shinji himself. Yep, Shinji was stewing because it was that Echizen Ryoma guy, a mere freshman, albeit a freshman who somehow managed to beat the stuffing out of him during the regional tournament, that had taken the last of Shinji's grip tape.

And what was more, Shinji hadn't been able to live down the defeat, either, with everyone from Buchou to Kamio to Buchou's little sister thinking of his defeat as some kind of weird mandate to give him all sorts of helpful-but-annoying advice. i Just practice harder, /i Tachibana An had said to him, Well Duh. Shinji wanted to beat his head into the ground because Of COURSE he had to practice harder -- it was what tennis players did, right? But anyway, what had he been thinking about again? Oh right, the grip tape, and the delicate tendons of Echizen's arm as he reached for it.

The grip tape, and the one small moment his hand touched Echizen Ryoma's at the pro shop, were two things his mind had mulled over and over for days. What was that all about, anyway? It wasn't as though Shinji was gay, because he'd never felt quite like that before, not even about the cute young men on his team. Wait, when did the word 'cute' slip into the definition of his team? Although upon reflection, Shinji realized that Tachibana did have great eyes, and maybe annoying Kamio was quite graceful when he moved, but really, neither of them was his type. Wait, when did Shinji have a 'type,'?

And why did that Echizen Ryoma guy pop into his mind when he thought about the word 'type'? In fact, if Shinji really reflected hard, it wasn't about the grip tape at all. It was all about how Echizen's legs looked in those shorts, especially during their match, and hey -- maybe it wasn't Shinji's fault at all that he lost. He'd been well and truly distracted. Perhaps there was something in the tennis rulebook about being intentionally distracted by the hotness of one's opponent? And that cocky little guy knew it, too, Shinji was certain.

But what had Shinji been thinking about again? Oh yes -- right -- about grip tape. And about how he'd really like to see what that Echizen Ryoma would look like with his hands taped together above his head, maybe to a bed post or chair or something, and legs spread apart in a similar way. Shinji would probably have to tape his mouth shut, too, because if not the guy would probably say something like "mada mada dane" when he was just about to come, and that would totally ruin the mood.

Not that anything could really ruin Shinji's mood if he could be allowed to torture the boy a little. Like, you know, lick him for a long, long time without letting him come, or something. And really, it was only his just deserts, Echizen totally deserved a good long torturing, especially around the groin area, and especially from Shinji's tongue. Shinji knew he had a good tongue, too -- he practiced all the time on his Gundam Wing figurine. Not that he really needed to be thinking about i that /i right now, not with his hand curling hard around his cock as he thought of his rival spread-eagled in front of him with an imploring look in his eye.

"I'll give you anything," Shinji imagined the boy gasping as he slowly licked down the boy's stomach, "even this grip tape!"

"But we've used it all up," Shinji pictured himself answering, very reasonably, before pulling as much as he could of Echizen's length into his mouth. The boy could really move, couldn't he? Shinji thought about how his shirt rode up to reveal smooth, toned abs when Echizen jumped, and in a few more swift strokes Shinji was gasping and panting Echizen's name as he made a huge mess out of his shirt.

"Damn," Shinji muttered, sighing and ripping off his shirt, "another night shirt in the wash. Echizen better be sorry for creating all this laundry for me next time I see him." Which Shinji really hoped would be soon. Perhaps he could ask to use the rest of Echizen's grip tape when he saw the boy next.

Not that Shinji had to specify what, exactly, he needed it for.


End file.
